


Untitled 003 in HS Major

by aruhime



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Drabble, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Loosely inspired by Doukyuusei, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, word vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29976774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aruhime/pseuds/aruhime
Summary: Seungsik was sure that this wasn’t the first time he felt this way towards another human being, but he didn’t know he would fall for his classmate, of all people.
Relationships: Heo Chan/Kang Seungsik
Kudos: 15





	Untitled 003 in HS Major

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically another plotless, impromptu writing, since I rewatched Doukyuusei yesterday. I'd say this is loosely based on that, because I don't really follow the actual plot and anything. It's just, heavily influenced I guess? I don't know? Doukyuusei is Great, you have to watch it /crying.
> 
> Also, the title is a joke that I encountered on tumblr. Struggling in deciding a title? Why not name your fic like composers did? So, yeah, untitled 003, since I have two other untitled fics, in HS major as in high school au.
> 
> Please enjoy this totally random fic, lmao.

The realization hit him like fresh water poured on a dry sunflower; it made his whole body tremble, not yet adjusted with this new-founded feelings, yet he was already craving for more. Drenched with love, Seungsik stared at the oblivious boy in front of him, who was currently grinning at him, who was currently unaware that he already got Seungsik’s heart inside his palms. Seungsik was sure that this wasn’t the first time he felt this way towards another human being, but he didn’t know he would fall for his classmate, of all people, of all the crowds that he had been dragged along after his gigs, _of all people_.

No, the idea of liking—loving?—one of his classmates never occurred in his head. And yet here he was, staring openly at the flirty, charming, and definitely everybody’s first crush, Heo Chan, as if nobody existed in this timeline.

“Right, Seungsik?” Chan playfully pinched Seungsik’s arm. “We’re going to your last gig before the final exam, it’s next week, isn’t it?”

It was a shame, Seungsik genuinely thought, that he couldn’t reserve this bright, blinding smile only for him and himself only. It wasn’t fair that he had to share with the rest of the world—what if they fell in love with him too?

“Yup,” Seungsik replied easily as if he hadn’t been staring the whole time. “I sent out the flyers to everyone already. You’ll go, right?”

The last question was directed to the rest of the group out of politeness, and yes, he did put the flyer for his last performance on everyone’s table. This would be his last stage with his band, wasn’t a big deal, but he invited everyone just because Chan insisted. And Seungsik might have been whipped since the beginning of this semester, not that he realized it before.

There was a chorus of affirmatives, and the conversation drifted off to something else, and Seungsik easily slipped back into his own thoughts.

It was both surprising and not surprising for him to easily accept that he might have a feeling for his classmate. Seungsik had been fond of Chan ever since they met on the classroom’s door, bumped into each other and sent Chan’s bread flying. The first day of Seungsik’s third year had begun like that—the smallest tiles of Seungsik’s personal domino had been set off on the same time Chan shrieked when his bread touched the floor, and it had been steadily surging forward, one tile at a time.

It ended today, as Seungsik breathed out slowly, wondering about Chan’s hair, curling attractively around his neck—had it always been like that? He wanted to touch them, feeling the soft, citrus-scented hair, thinking about how nice they would feel between Seungsik’s fingers.

He snapped out of his thoughts once again, when the second period break bell blasted through the speakers. After the second break was history class, and Seungsik guessed that he would spend the next period staring at the back of Chan’s figure. 

/ / /

“We’re good, right?”

Seungsik turned at Chan quickly, surprised. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because you’re oddly silent today.” Chan bit his lips. “I thought you were annoyed with my idea to invite everyone to your last gig.”

“No! There’s no way I can be mad with you.”

And, of course, it was a lie—Seungsik didn’t really care if his other classmates weren’t with him on his last stage, but as he watched Chan’s nervous lip-biting turned to a wide smile, of course it was worth all the lies Seungsik could muster up at the moment.

Chan bumped his shoulder to Seungsik’s, laughing. “You’re flattering me.”

Seungsik realized later, when Chan dragged him inside a convenience store to impulsively buy popsicle bars, that these moments wouldn’t last longer. Sitting on the swings in a nearby park, he knew he would miss the way Chan’s uniform seemed to never put neatly inside his trousers. Perhaps one or two years later, if the universe allowed them to meet again, they would meet in a more grown-up outfit—definitely not on a worn off white shirt on which one can recognise dirty prints from football matches, or equally shabby red-checkered school pants.

The creaking sound of these old rusty swings mocked him. They wore the same uniform, sat in the same class, born in the same year—somehow it felt like a fate. A cruel fate, in Seungsik’s opinion, because how come he just realised his feelings today? On an exhausting year of being a third year high school student of all years, on the uncertain period where all paths seemed to crisscrossed in front of them of all periods.

Seungsik ached to kiss Chan goodbye when they separated on a junction; Seungsik to the right, and Chan to the left. And kiss he did; only a quick peck but right on Chan’s lips, and then he waited for a slap or horrified yell.

Chan stared—he stared right to Seungsik’s eyes, his brown eyes widened, his cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of red. And Seungsik thought, _well fuck it_ , and he kissed Chan once again, this time longer and firmer; and when he pulled away, Seungsik became more confident.

“I like you,” he said, quick and simple. “I like you so much, Chanie. I want you to be mine.”

And, in the middle of this summer heat, in the way they both stood up randomly under the street sign, in the way Chan’s ears began to be tinted by the same red flush of his face—this whole confession was surreal in Seungsik’s mind. If he tried hard enough, he could convince himself that this was only a summertime dream. Yet his back was sweating under his uniform, his clenched-unclenched fist was wet and filled with anxiousness—definitely wasn’t a fuzzy summerish dream.

This was real; the traces of exhaustion on both of their faces, the way Chan’s sleeves were folded upwards, their plain-ass school uniform—Seungsik would’ve dreamed them a better outfit if this was only a dream.

Chan was still wide eyed, “since when…?”

 _Since forever_ were the first words that sprung inside Seungsik’s head. He was honest when he replied, “I don’t know.”

Chan laughed at that, like the sparks around the fire crackers that they usually lit up and swung around at festival nights, and Seungsik couldn’t help but to mimic his grin.

“I’m not saying you have to reciprocate,” Seungsik hastily added. “I—just saying. You know.”

“I know,” Chan took their hands and linked them together. “I just don’t know what to say, really.”

“Then don’t.”

Chan hummed, there was a spark in his eyes that Seungsik couldn’t recognize.

“ _Love is too young to know what conscience is,_ ”

Seungsik was baffled. “What?”

Grinning sheepishly, Chan turned his attention to their linked hands. “It means I want to try.”

And suddenly, the blazing sun above their head was not too hot anymore.

/ / /

From the stage, Seungsik’s eyes were combing the wilding audience, searching for a mop of familiar hair; the love of his life, the sun to his moon. He concealed the act as if he was sweeping his gaze on everyone equally, but their band members couldn’t be fooled. The guitarist poked Seungsik’s arm, teasing him when he still couldn’t find Chan in the crowd.

Unable to talk back (because he was singing at the moment), Seungsik only glared.

Chan had promised to come, he said so this afternoon, after a string of stolen kisses behind the storage room, hands slipping under each other’s shirt. He had long realized that Seungsik wanted him to come by himself, not with the other classmates, and with his familiar sneaky grin, he told Seungsik that “I’ll come alone, then?”

 _No_ , Seungsik had told him earlier, no he didn’t have to ruin everyone’s fun with his own selfish desire. And now he couldn’t even find his classmates among the crowd. Great.

“Easy, Ssik-ah,” the guitarist mouthed to him. “It’s so dark outside the stage, you couldn’t possibly see the whole room from here.”

Feeling slightly guilty, Seungsik nodded. This night was supposed to be their band’s night; their last stage before everyone moved and focused on their own future. Like how everything started, an ending was inevitable, no matter how fond Seungsik felt with his bandmates. He, too, would miss their late night practices, only to yawn on the next morning, his throat hoarse after hours of singing and laughing.

Curse the third year of high school, Seungsik lamented on his mind, as he hit the high notes on their second song’s bridge. The crowd cheered when the drum increased the beats, rising to the final chorus of the song, and Seungsik tried his best to enjoy this moment. The cheers, the way he was hot and sweaty under the spotlight, the grins he exchanged with his fellow band members, the accidental off-pitch notes, the way he would muster his widest smile when the song ended.

And, when Seungsik was finally not anxious waiting for Chan to appear in the middle of the crowd, he didn’t realize that he was glowing with confidence and pride. Oh, he was glowing alright—under the blinding spotlight, Seungsik looked heavenly. The band played a slower song, as this was their very last song to sing, a goodbye song—and the flashing stage light above Seungsik’s head casted a shadow over him. He stood up right on the center, both hands rested on the mic, and he swept his eyes across the audience in melancholy.

“ _For a short while, goodbye,_ ” Seungsik breathed into the microphone and grinned, trying to lift up the mood even though the lyrics of this last song were quite sad.

_For a short while, goodbye. After this short while, I hope to see you again. Just like this, goodbye. Today, too, I miss and miss you._

From the corner of the room, just right outside the ring of people crowding the stage, Chan smiled at himself. Watching Seungsik fondly, he sipped his cheap beer and felt his body warmed; not from the alcohol, but from an entirely different reason.

/ / /

“No, we’re not saying goodbye yet,” Seungsik leaned into Chan’s kiss, tasting the leftover bitterness mixed with strawberry flavoured soda. Not a really good combination, but Seungsik would take anything if it was Chan.

“Mmm. It’s great, the last song.”

“I helped with the lyrics,” he rested his chin on Chan’s shoulder, inhaling the freshness of his fabric detergent. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It sorta like a prayer. That you hope someday everyone will come back and you will do, I don’t know, jamming sessions together again?”

Seungsik kissed the tip of Chan’s nose, “correct.”

And, sitting in the sand box, feeling relieved to be out of the basement and from all the crowds, Seungsik silently hoped to the passing wind, to the hanging moon far above the sky, that his prayer would be granted. It would be nice to come back, long after they had their own family and jobs, as adults with lots of responsibilities—coming back once again to this grunge-looking studio, blasting their old songs through the speakers, inviting the guests to wilding around with them.

“Tonight we’re not saying goodbye yet,” Seungsik said after a long moment of silence. “But what’s after this?”

“After what?”

“All this,” Seungsik gestured vaguely. “Endless night to study for mock exams, the actual final exams, college entrance tests, _everything_.”

“What, you’re bored with me already?”

Seungsik pulled his head from Chan’s shoulder very fast and stared at a laughing Chan, feeling horrified. “What the heck, _no._ ”

At that moment, watching the free and childish expression on Chan’s face turned into something more grim, even though this wasn’t the first time that it dawned upon Seungsik’s mind, but, hey, they both were third year students, weren’t they? It wasn’t only him, it wasn’t only Seungsik and Chan who were worried about what would happen next—it was everyone.

“We can go together,” Chan said, honest. “Even if you’re on the other side of the world, and I’m on the other one, I believe we can still be together. Well, if you're willing.”

Tackling Chan onto the ground, Seungsik kissed him dearly, ignoring a row of protests whelped by him. Chan’s struggle quickly turned into laughter, though, and he relaxed and melted to Seungsik’s hug.

“You’re a big sap,” Seungsik mumbled to Chan’s hair.

“Well, you choose this sap specifically. No take-backs now.”

They pulled away but not too far that Seungsik could still see the streaks of exhaustion in Chan’s face, their breath mingled with each other.

“Of course,” Seungsik grinned, scrunching his nose. Chan mimicked his grin, his cheeks pinked. “Of course I am willing.”

**Author's Note:**

> _“Love is too young to know what conscience is,” _is taken from the first line of Sonnet 151! This one’s definitely taken out of context from the whole poem. The complete poem is, as far as I understand, more E rated than fluff-rated /coughs/ I mean that line to be read as: that they are still (literally) young, and being young and naive they definitely don’t know what would happen to them after this confession. Chan accepted Seungsik’s love (the line “I want to try”) and by saying the sonnet line, he is implying that if anything goes wrong, he blames their youth spirit for being so impulsive.__
> 
> _  
> _Time of Sorrow translation credits to Color Coded Lyrics translation team!_  
>  _
> 
> _  
> _Come and yell about them with me in my[cc](https://curiouscat.me/aruhxme) or [twitter!](https://twitter.com/chaniiro)_  
>  _


End file.
